Holed up in Dave Fridman's studio in New York state, confronting the demons of sobriety and resorting to games of football involving Rochester Rhinos and Minnesota Thunder, I write, a warped but contented boy. I went for a walk but was chased by four dogs and witnessed a snake. I didn't walk again, instead passinh hours by watching meaningless football and waiting for 'Shake It Fast' by Mystikal and other such booty-fests to appear on MTV. Important matters aside, I am also meant to be doing an album but shan't bore anyone with details. Sedition reigns, and lightning aside, all is well and quiet which won't be the case when we go to New York for the annual CMJ idiocies. Reporting this clownfest shall be next month's assignment.

When not bearing witness to such heinous acts of sedition as the decimation of rental cars and shattering of chicken wing consumption records, I have had to come to terms with the stagnant state of mainstream music via MTV. It is a sick torture sitting through hours of cack just in case something of any worth slips through the seemingly fool-proof net designed to only allow music of no originality or substance to pass through. Rap aside, America's youth is being fed a diet of pseudo-youth [most of these cunts are 30+] anthems which make as much proclamations as, "If heaven was a half pipe". It really is the kind of stuff that would make you take your gun to school. The accused: Orgy, Fuel, Fastball, Creed, OPM, Good Charlotte, SR71. I hope these wanks die in a plane crash. They are musical AIDS. The only boon that this hideous scenario throws up is that they'll all suffer the indignity of playing to ten record company staff and a dog when they are forced into an attempt at captuing the British 'market'. Shed 7 almost seem a blessing.

Those that know me know that the term 'post-rock' is one I do not care for. It's a pointless term that implies nothing and collects bands together to save writers the hassle of describing their music. With this in mind, mself and another guitar player plagued by 'post-rock' came upon a more apt description we intentionally have not given a name. After discussing the demise of guitar wizards Robbie Basho and Nick Drake [fingernails growing overly long and spiralling like orange peel] and the current nick of Daniel Johnston [religous recluse] it came to us that this is the state that encompasses any musician worth his/her salt where everyday life becomes secondary to the mentalism that consumes their mind and, most importantly, their body. The lunacy of God should be involved. Syd Barrett is the greatest example of post-rock syndrome as he was last seen painting his mother's fridge green. And on that bombshell I'm off to grow my nails.

WORD OF THE MONTH: suicidal [wings]

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